


In the Darkness You Stand

by IridulcentDays (BiverbalBuncombe)



Series: Spies Like Us [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Bottom Russia (Hetalia), M/M, Minor Violence, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiverbalBuncombe/pseuds/IridulcentDays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was that for?”  Ivan growls.</p>
<p>Alfred is glaring at Ivan, and his fingers are digging painfully into his shoulder where he’s shoved Ivan hard against the wall. “You ever do a stupid fucking thing like that again, Braginsky, and I’ll kill you myself.”</p>
<p>“That is an empty threat.” Ivan says.</p>
<p>Alfred’s eyes narrow, slits of gas-blue fire and Ivan stares back. Alfred is soaked from being pushed into the lake; his gold hair is plastered to his face and rivulets of water drip down his face. His chest is heaving, and Ivan watches Alfred’s jaw tense.</p>
<p>“Don’t do it again,” Alfred hisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Darkness You Stand

**Author's Note:**

> This was a requested prompt fill from Tumblr, I hope it's okay because this is the first time I've ever written anything like this.

"What was that for?” Ivan growls.

Alfred is glaring at Ivan, and his fingers are digging painfully into his shoulder where he’s shoved Ivan hard against the wall. “You ever do a stupid fucking thing like that again, Braginsky, and I’ll kill you myself.”

“That is an empty threat.” Ivan says.

Alfred’s eyes narrow, slits of gas-blue fire and Ivan stares back. Alfred is soaked from being pushed into the lake; his gold hair is plastered to his face and rivulets of water drip down his face. The light of moon slips through the window of the bathroom they’re in, all veined marble and gold. His chest is heaving, and Ivan watches Alfred’s jaw tense.

“Don’t do it again,” Alfred hisses, and Ivan feels something inside him recoil low in his stomach at the anger. It’s not often Ivan sees this rage, the wounded rip in Alfred’s soul that comes with their line of work. He feels like he has pried it open, stared at the bloody gash and is now staring at the eyes of the beast that bears it.

And yet, “No.”

“No?”

Ivan shakes his head, ignores the way Alfred’s shoulder hitch up as he seethes and presses down with bruising force. “I would do it again.”

There’s a pained and struggled sound that gets trapped in Alfred’s throat, and Ivan watches the other man lean in closer. “Don’t you ever shove me out of a window and try to take a bullet for me, you bastard.”

Ivan is matching his glare now, curling his own fingers around Alfred’s wrist. “I will do it every time, and you cannot stop me.”

Alfred stills and rips himself away, taking a step back and staggering away from the wall he’d pinned Ivan against. He’s clenching his teeth, and Ivan can see the tremor in Alfred’s hand from the rage that’s barely contained. It could have been so easy for them to be shot. They’d been searching around the manor, looking for some piece of the puzzle they were missing while Kuryba Radvila, a Lithuanian blackmailer with ties to a human trafficking organization, was away on business. Alfred knew Radvila had left the summer lake home unwatched, and Ivan hadn’t even thought to check if there was someone else lurking inside. 

Of course the thing is, sometimes they weren’t the only people sent looking after important papers.

Alfred had gone for the desk, looking through files and notes to try to figure out the next step while Ivan had tried to see if there were any hidden safes. They had been cornered by two men, most likely hired independent contractors because they didn’t ask questions and had their guns trained on the two of them the second they stepped out of the shadows.

It had escalated quickly, mostly because Alfred was an idiot who didn’t like to listen, especially after one of them had hit Ivan hard enough in the stomach that he had nearly fallen to the floor. There was an argument, and a scuffle and Ivan had seen the gun flash in the moonlight and had acted without thinking.

It was becoming a worrying reoccurrence lately. He couldn’t think around Alfred.

Ivan had shoved Alfred away, taking the shot to his side with only a shallow graze. Ivan had seen the flicker of horror that had flashed in his blue eyes, fear that had nothing to do with being pushed, and was immediately pistol whipped by the marksman, who walked to the window and shot twice into the darkness below. They had grabbed him, pressed him down to the floor while his brain was trying to curl around the pain and focus once more.

The men had started asking questions, keeping their guns trained as evidence of their readiness to harm. Ivan could only focus on the two shots after Alfred had fallen. He had been so focused on it, the cracks of the gun echoing sickeningly though his mind, even he hadn’t heard the steps come in. There was a grunt, and Ivan watched Alfred attack with swift vengeance, hitting one of the men in the throat with a wicked knife and taking the gun with ease, shooting once, then turning and shooting again before the man could even make a sound at seeing his partner fall dead.

Ivan had swayed when he finally got off the floor, and smacked Alfred’s hand away. He was fine. Alfred’s mouth had tensed into a thin line and had grabbed Ivan firmly, pulling him down the hall and shoved him into the bathroom where he had probed with quick fingers to make sure Ivan was all right.

And when Ivan had regained his breath, was no longer dizzy and could stand upright without help, Alfred had lost it.

Alfred turned in the bathroom, looking out the window and rounded back to stare at Ivan, startling him out of his recollection of the events earlier. “I can’t stop you?” He says slowly, “I think I fucking can, because if you pull that shit again I will break both your legs.”

“Alfred–“

“Ivan, just shut up!” Alfred slams his fist against the wall and Ivan listens to the tile crack. It’s easy to forget the American’s strength. Alfred’s eyes gleam in the light. His hands tremble as he steps towards Ivan, and Ivan stills. It’s not rage in Alfred’s eyes. He was wrong. It’s fear. It’s the same fear he’d seen as Alfred had dropped out the window and into the night. “Just shut up,” Alfred says again in a whisper.

Ivan leans against the sink counter and watches Alfred warily. He scrubs his hand against his face murmurs, “You’ve got blood on your forehead.”

Ivan turns to look at the mirror. He shrugs. “It is small cut. It will heal.”

Alfred is standing behind him when he turns back around. There is still a tremble running through his limbs like electricity and when Alfred lays his hand on Ivan’s shoulder it burns.

“I am not sorry,” Ivan declares and Alfred descends on him. He’s got his hands twisted in Ivan’s sweater, pulling him close so their lips can meet. It’s a hard and bruising clash and Alfred tastes like sweat and murky sweet fresh water. Ivan is caught between the wall of muscle and the marble counter and clenches tightly at Alfred’s broad shoulders.

When he pulls away Alfred snarls low and deep, “You’re such an asshole.” Ivan puts his hand on the back of Alfred’s neck, pulls him close again and licks away the water on his jaw, moves back in for another kiss and it’s as bold and fierce as they fight. Alfred’s hands move down, one hand steadying them against the counter and the other fixed on Ivan’s hip, thumb bruising into the divot where it meets his pelvis. Alfred’s waterlogged clothes drip into Ivan and he shivers. He moves his hand up further, fisting Alfred’s hair and feels fire in his chest.

Alfred’s damp hands snake up under Ivan’s shirt. He pushes the fabric away and Ivan jolts at the cold fingers brushing at the hair along his navel. Ivan pushes the American away, and tugs at Alfred’s wet shirt. Alfred helps peel the clothing off and tosses it behind him onto the marble floor with a wet splat. “Are we seriously–” Alfred mutters after claiming Ivan’s lips again, tasting the inside of his mouth with salacious swipes of his tongue, “–doing this right now?”

“Do you not want to?” Ivan asks against the salty skin of Alfred’s throat.

“Fuck, yes I do.”

“Then shut up and keep going.”

Alfred moans when Ivan begins to turn his attention to his neck, licking and kissing and biting his way down to the tense muscles of Alfred’s shoulder. He tilts his head and looks up at Alfred’s flushed face, his impossibly blue eyes half lidded and gazing back at Ivan. It’s like the ocean, and it swells beneath him and pulls him under until there is no more air to breath.

Alfred has bunched the fabric of Ivan’s turtleneck sweater up towards the top of his chest, pulls it off impatiently when Ivan lifts his arms. His knuckles graze the sensitive flesh of Ivan’s throat ardently. It’s not the first time he’s seen them, this vulnerable piece of Ivan that he keeps covered. Alfred brushes his lips against sensitive scars that never healed properly. It’s too much sensation and a sob of a gasp bubbles out. He puts his hand against Alfred’s naked chest firmly. Alfred moves his attention back up, teeth capturing the bottom of Ivan’s lip and presses his body against Ivan.

There’s a rumble from Alfred’s chest when Ivan shifts his stance and presses his thigh against Alfred’s erection. Ivan can feel his own cock swelling against the hot wet fabric of his inner thigh. Ivan swallows hard when Alfred moved his head, takes the pad of Ivan’s thumb into his mouth and begins to suck.

The heat is rising inside. The ocean is beating and crashing inside his bones with until there is nothing left but primal need. Ivan watches, can feel a possessive growl in his throat. He bucks his hips, listens as Alfred parts with a gasp and grips Ivan’s hips tightly, fingers spasm and lurch down, nimbly undoing the belt buckle and zipping down Ivan’s trousers.

Alfred pulled away and Ivan groaned at the sudden loss of heat and pressure against his thighs. He heard him chuckle and say, “Hold on, damn it. I want you to be able to fucking walk after this.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Ivan mutters in agitation. Alfred is searching around the cabinet on the far wall, pulling off his belt and hopping out of the jeans that are plastered to his skin. Ivan grabs the sink irritated and thinks to himself that Alfred is going to be the first one to shuck off his underwear when he comes back.

“It’ll do,” Alfred says, plucking a small jar of Vaseline from the closet and leaves the door open. Ivan moves away from the sink counter and finds himself shoved back, hips pressing into the marble uncomfortably.

“What–“

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere.” Alfred growls.

“The floor?” Ivan asks quietly. Alfred kisses his jaw and chuckles again. It’s deep and throaty and raw.

“No.” Alfred says and reaches down to palm Ivan’s cock.

Ivan bucks at the dry heat, moaning when Alfred’s fingers curl and tug once. The hand leaves and Ivan hisses, “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Alfred says with a vicious smile. Ivan suddenly wants to punch him. He stares at the gleaming curl of Alfred’s teeth.

“Leaving.”

Alfred mouths at Ivan’s collarbone, hooks a long finger into his briefs and tugs down. It’s a viper strike of motion and Alfred pins Ivan on his stomach against the counter, and kicks his foot out to spread his legs.

“No one’s leaving.” Alfred says with a flutter of a kiss to Ivan’s shoulders. He can feel his lips trailing down his spine, watches from the side as Alfred opens the Vaseline and presses a slicked thumb against the cleft of Ivan’s ass.

His breath catches as Alfred trails down slowly and presses one finger in to begin spreading him. Ivan hasn’t done this in awhile, has never done it with Alfred and watches his hazy gaze in the mirror in front of him. Ivan realizes this is exactly what Alfred wanted because he meets Ivan’s gaze in the glass, a smirk plastered to his face. A drop of water beads down from his hair, trails down his chest and disappears. Ivan moans as Alfred introduces as second long finger, gently scissoring and hooking with practiced ease. Ivan’s hips jolt back. Alfred has a firm grip on Ivan’s waist, keeps him still against the counter despite the steady motion of his fingers.

“Don’t move.” Alfred breathes. Ivan can feel Alfred’s clothed and tented cock hard against his bottom. He leans down to kiss the fluttering muscles of Ivan’s straining shoulders, laughs gently into his ear with a kiss to the base of his neck and pulls back up.

Alfred adds another finger, staying in a steady motion as earlier. Ivan wants to thrust back, to hurry him up and stop dicking around. The marble is cold under his forearms and belly, and he snarls in impatience.

“Alright,” Alfred says and pulls away. Ivan sees Alfred in the mirror as he scrambles to pull his boxers down and takes more of the Vaseline coating himself with three effective pumps. Ivan watches him guide himself, can feel the thick head of Alfred’s cock against his ass and gasps as Alfred presses in, slides in slowly and holds Ivan’s hips tightly. Their eyes are locked on each other as Alfred presses until he is seated, and Ivan lets out a raw and hungry gasp. There’s discomfort, but it’s irrelevant to the full heat inside him, and when Alfred begins to move there is only triumphant pleasure.

Alfred fucks him with a steady drum, and Ivan has to grip the edges of the sink to stop himself from sliding towards the mirror and gold faucet. He tries to steady his balance, but Alfred’s hands grip him still, keeping his foot along the inside of his leg to keep Ivan’s legs spread apart. It’s not enough, it’s not fast or hard enough and with a growl, Ivan reaches back with one arm and digs his fingers into the fleshy inside of Alfred’s thigh.

Alfred yelps and looses purchase against the damp marble floor, feet squeaking as he falls against Ivan’s back, driving deeper with a jarring thrust. Ivan gasps and lets out a keening moan. Alfred grabs the counter, tries to pull back as he mutters, “Shit, are you okay?”

“Do not fucking stop,” Ivan struggles to hiss, meeting his eyes in the mirror. There’s a flash of doubt in those blue eyes and Ivan grits out, “keep going, Alfred.”

The doubt melts away, and Ivan presses back into Alfred as the savage rhythm is started again, but Alfred keeps one hand on the cold counter this time. Even in the vicious heat that curls through them, Alfred keeps enough sense to hold them steady. Ivan realizes that Alfred had not touched anywhere that Ivan has been hurt. That he has kept his burning touch away from his upper side and stomach and the side of his head. He doesn’t know what to do with this, and when Alfred leans in, hits that spot that leaves a shivered ecstasy that drips out of his throat, he decides to try to remember it later. Alfred picks up the pace, franticly thrusting and Ivan is blank with pleasure.

When Alfred comes, it’s with a tremendous rumble that Ivan can feel through his back, travels through his spine like distant thunder. His hips stutter and he stills, kneading one hand along Ivan’s ass, and he pulls out. His ragged pants ghost along the ridge of Ivan’s shoulders. Ivan’s head snaps back when Alfred grabs his dripping cock, watching him though the mirror with predatory eyes, half lidded with the laurels of completion.

“Alfred, please,” Ivan moans. He’s so close. The drunken buzz of lust permeates his skin and bones and his knees feel weak. He feels like he will fall, crumple to the floor and stay there forever.

Alfred nods, tugs at Ivan and reaches around with his other hand to cup against Ivan’s balls and he’s coming hard, choking on wordless cry that cannot come to fruition as there is no air in his lungs. He’s dizzy, sated and light headed and can only mumble a protest when Alfred pulls at his shoulder, pulling him up and kisses him weakly. Ivan’s knees tremble in exhaustion.

They move to the cold tile floor, and Ivan sees Alfred wince at the temperature change against his fevered body. Ivan has collapsed wordlessly against his own sweater, cushioning him against the cold. They lay shoulder to shoulder, panting in the dark bathroom.

“I think,” Alfred says lowly, his voice trembling in the dark, “That the best idea is to keep fucking you so you can’t jump in front of a gun.” He rolls over, leaning on one arm and stares at Ivan. Ivan traces the line of his jaw with his eyes, stares at how the moonlight makes him look like cut marble, a roman statue of a god of war.

Ivan wraps his fingers in Alfred’s hair at the base of his skull, pulls him down for a kiss that is nothing like the voracious fire earlier. He grumbles in Russian when Alfred pulls away, rolling his eyes and sits up.

“You can’t threaten me with an empty promise like that,” Alfred chuckles. He’s walking towards the closet again, grabs a hand towel and has to step over Ivan to wet it. He cleans himself, rinses it again and kneels down to wipe away the spend that has trailed down Ivan’s thigh.

Ivan is watching, placing every movement into sharp memory. Alfred is grinning and a cold thought rushes into Ivan’s head. “You did make sure that there is no one else here?”

Alfred stills, looks at Ivan questioningly.

Ivan sits up, pushes the American back and begins to get dressed. “You will be the death of me,” he grumbles.

“Sure.” Alfred says, and it’s in a hollow voice that echoes the fire when he had trapped him against the counter. Ivan turns, but Alfred is looking out the window. “Shit, my clothes are still wet.”

“Suck it up,” Ivan replies. It’s taking too long to zip up. He’s still dazed. “We would not have to move if you would do your job correctly.”

“Oh, so it’s my job to do the perimeter checks now, is it?” He’s making a face at pulling on the wet jeans. Ivan snorts.

“If you want to fuck me, then yes. You do.”

Alfred grumbles, but there is no counter argument.


End file.
